Today’s walk kept me stepping, one step at a time, moving forward, doing something when it feels these days that I am doing nothing.  Moments of relief of duties interspersed with longer hours of minutes sitting reminding myself that I cannot push this time of human frustration: no work for society, no job, no income to match expenses, investment for future cloudy return.  Continuous surrender to the season.

A tiny violet, maybe two, hardly a half an inch wide, snuggled close to the city-side of the sidewalk, almost overlooked, tickled me with her song.  “I was a seed too–and look at me now!  The sidewalk can’t stop me and the grass can’t choke me–here I am perfect purple smiling at the morning sun every second that I can.  Then I too will retreat to leaves and seed like you.  Good day!”

She said that in a split second.  It is my meditative contemplation today: be a good seed.  From the flower of my mother, born this month so many years ago, prepared and nurtured by life, packaged into a face and personality, picked from the rack and now ready to plant a garden, the seeds sit on my table.  Even when I am eventually planted anew, the roots take time to wiggle in the dear earth, grabbing hold of the soil and anchoring the soul to a new harbor.

So as I float adrift now and again, the seeds of me are safe, inevitably and easily ready for planting.  Mother as close to my cheek as my old skin, I lean into You and You lean into me.